


what lies beneath

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Alpha Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: There was another upside to Aziraphale's prim wardrobe: Crowley didn't have to look at that endless array of unblemished skin and feel his heart break.For almost six thousand years, Aziraphale had chosen to spend his heats with Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 323





	what lies beneath

Crowley was actually rather glad when the angel had started wearing clothes that covered him up.

Yeah, those biteable collarbones and soft furry calves were hidden beneath patterned fabric and complicated, tiny buttons. And sure, maybe those ankles that drove him wild were now tucked delicately into silken socks, held up with garters. Three to four layers of mixed, high quality fabric smoothed his torso, taking Aziraphale’s shape from delectably round to big boned and sturdy.

But that just meant that during heats, there were so many more ways to tease the omega. Ways to make him come without touching that intoxicating skin, to make him fuss and whine in equal measures about mess and pleasure. Crowley could control how fast and how much to reveal the angel. He enjoyed unwrapping him, one slow slide of brocaded material at a time. Loved how easy it was to focus on each individual piece of flesh and take his time, make it last, make Aziraphale fall apart the way Crowley had over the centuries.

There was another upside to Aziraphale’s prim wardrobe: Crowley didn’t have to look at that endless array of unblemished skin and feel his heart break.

Of the six thousand years that Aziraphale had been experiencing heats, Crowley had been offering assistance for five thousand and ninety of them. The demon knew how every inch of that body tasted–and the difference in tastes between licking, sucking, nipping, and biting. He knew the weight of it on his tongue, his hands, his skin. He had a catalogue of noises that he relied on to keep the screams of hell and silence at bay. Every innocent little flutter of those blue eyes had a matching moment of sensual use, every non touch paralleled millions of times those Aziraphale had reached out and pulled him close, closer.

And yet.

For almost six thousand years, Aziraphale had chosen to spend his heats with Crowley. Had let Crowley work him through the passion, had trusted Crowley to take care of him when all his mind was consumed with carnal desires. Aziraphale let–no, he wanted Crowley to take him to the highest pleasures, let him know him intimately inside and out. Had begged for Crowley to claim him, over and over and over again.

In the Mesopotamia sand, Aziraphale had trapped Crowley between his plush thighs and not let him go until Crowley had bitten every part of that luscious neck. Curled together in a boat they shouldn’t have been on, Crowley had thrust into that warm cunt, teeth closed on one shoulder until they both cried out. He had mouthed his way down from jaw to ear to clavicle throughout the years, letting his fangs mark Aziraphale each time they made a mess of each other.

In the damp of Wessex, Crowley had shoved Aziraphale to the earth, let him keen to the grass as they fucked, bit into those fat folds of his lower back. Paris had seen an angel folded in two, knees around Crowley’s spindly shoulders, and Crowley laved his love onto those ankles, calves, knees–wherever he could reach without changing the angle. Even when both were sore over the implications of fraternizing, Aziraphale came to him; came to him as Crowley worked his tongue and fingers into the angel, bruising and sucking thighs and hips until there was no space left for another to do the same.

And yet Aziraphale’s skin was unbroken.

An alpha could claim an omega during a heat, but unless the omega allowed the claim, the marks disappeared.

Crowley tried not to think about it. Even when he caught himself tracing Aziraphale’s body, remembering each time they had come together, he stopped just short of the fact that Aziraphale would fuck a demon but not let himself be with one.

Even with six centuries of proven orgasms, it still took until the world almost ended to get him into Crowley’s bed.

“Fire and water…that’s what it has to be. Crimes befitting their limited imagination.”

Of course, getting the angel to actually do something in that bed, without a heat, would be impossible.

Crowley lounged against the window, watching him in the reflection. Aziraphale had perched on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap as he puzzled out the prophecy. It was better this way, he supposed. Sighing, he turned to Aziraphale, arms crossed.

“Yeah, and? How does that help us?”

“Knowing is half the battle, my dear.”

“Yeah, and the other half is staying alive, which we are lacking.”

Aziraphale had no answer and just pouted at him. It almost made Crowley smile. His lanky legs took him to the bed, draping himself artfully across the top of it. Crowley took in the pretty silhouette his angel made in the moonlight, hair aglow and posture perfect. One long finger reached out, without conscious effort on the demon’s part, and traced a shape just below where the soft hair ended.

“Do you remember?” The angel’s posture stiffened even more, impossibly. “It was…right here.”

“…Crowley.”

“It was the first time. Do you remember?” That first time, when the angel had the chance to go to Heaven to ease his torments, to have other angels tend to his sweat and needs, but he chose to find a demon. Chose to submit to Crowley, to drag Crowley out of orbit and into a black hole of lust. It was the first time Aziraphale, flushed and dripping and beautiful, begged Crowley to mark him, claim him, cried out in every way when Crowley let himself be fooled that it wasn’t just the heat talking. Crowley had buried himself in deep, had nuzzled that halo hair and pressed kisses to that sweet skin before biting into it. It was the first time Crowley let himself feel loved, riding out the aftershocks with an angel trembling below him.

It was the first time his beloved couldn’t meet his eyes, slunk away, and established the pattern of meeting up next time with no evidence of their previous intimacy.

“It was…right here.” He let himself apply a little bit of pressure, remembering.

The angel’s voice was soft. “Of course I remember.”

Crowley snorted, dropped his hand. “Sure you do.”

Blue eyes craned over broad shoulders. “You don’t believe me?”

As he spoke, Crowley wished he could blame it on the long day. Wished he could blame the words on anything but his fragile heart. “I know you don’t. There’s no way. You only remember the things that matter to you, angel.”

The sound that followed was familiar. It was silence, it was pain, it was a shattering soul and a tearless cry held back.

Aziraphale stood, turning so fast he almost fell over. “That’s what you believe?”

“It’s what I know.” Crowley absolutely refused to blink and let the burning win.

“I see.” Aziraphale stared at him for a long moment, then his face softened. “Oh, my dear…” Plump hands reached up, caught the edges of his bowtie, and pulled.

Crowley sat up. “What…what the blazes are you doing?”

Ignoring him, Aziraphale laid the bowtie down and began to loosen his shirt. Once the first three buttons were undone, his eyes flickered nervously to Crowley. “I…please. Just…” He took a fortifying breathe. “Just…stay put for once in your life.”

Crowley thought that was pretty ironic, but his throat went dry as Aziraphale continued unbuttoning his many layers. He still lay them tenderly on the bed, but his usual finesse was abandoned in favor of getting them off quickly. He didn’t even sit to toe off his shoes. In only moments, he was naked in front of the bed, strong, gorgeous, terrified, shifting his weight from leg to leg. He raised his eyes to Crowley and whatever he saw in his face made him nod resolutely. He raised one hand and snapped.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. And then–

Crowley leaned forward.

In the pale moonlight, Aziraphale’s skin seemed to glow. Starting with those round little toes, the glow rose over him, taking the illusion of perfection with it. As Crowley fought to remember how to breathe, that perfect skin began to reveal patterns. Some were overlapped, some stood alone. Several seemed to have an unholy size–obviously from where the infernal creature who left them had unhinged his jaw in order to obey the angel’s request for more. Some were dark and vibrant, others were raised and scarred. Aziraphale turned in a slow circle. Crowley’s eyes flittered from a mark that was missing some teeth–courtesy of a fight with another demon before he was able to find his omega– to the back of Aziraphale’s neck.

A demon’s claim, clear as day.

The angel’s voice was shivery when he finally spoke. “I never forgot any of them, dearest.”

“Why?” Crowley rasped out, eyes frantic.

“Hell would have _destroyed_ you.”

“Aziraphale.” There was a growl in his voice, a command that broke the angel’s hesitation. Aziraphale rushed to him, let clawed, strong hands heft him into a suddenly naked lap. Crowley’s mouth was warm as he pressed kisses everywhere, drawing gasps from his omega.

His omega. All this time. Crowley couldn’t think about it, couldn’t wrap his head around it. So he just drew Aziraphale closer, wrapped around him completely, wings bursting out and letting his lips and tongues and teeth drag over his love. Everything could wait, would wait.

“Crowley, Crowley, please, please love please.”

Happy to obey, to give Aziraphale everything, he obliged, fangs biting hard over Aziraphale’s heart.


End file.
